


Home For Christmas

by casstayinmyass



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Kissing in the Snow, Lovesickness, Mutual Masturbation, Snow, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28228032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: Copia longs to be with you at Christmas, but he's on tour until the end of the month. You make a wish on Christmas Eve that just might come true.AKA, Copia but make it a Hallmark Christmas movie.
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ghostsucks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostsucks/gifts).



> Merry almost Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone!! Have some cute Copia shit to end this hell year!

Copia turns back to his band of ghouls as the stage lights go back on for an encore. It’s December the 24th, and Ghost is performing a show in Düsseldorf, Germany. They’re on their last song of the night.

“Just follow my lead, yeah?” the Cardinal addresses his band.

“What do you mean?” Rain hisses.

“You’ve heard of Christmas carols,” Copia replies. He gets blank looks back from his ghouls.

“You mean songs for Yule?” Dew asks.

“Yes, yes. Well... no. I mean, they are songs that I used to hear when I was a young Catholic, with my—anyway, unimportant. It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m singing a Christmas carol because damnit, it makes me happy.”

“Are you fucked? I don’t know any goddamn ‘Christmas’ songs,” Dew mutters, making a face as if saying the word Christ left a sour taste in his mouth. He glances over his shoulder to the drummer. “Do you?” Mountain shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head.

They don’t have time to stage a mutiny on their frontman however; Copia starts to speak into the mic.

“Guten Abend, Düsseldorf! Very good evening indeed, eh?! Yeah! We have a little something different for you tonight. I know this is a black mass, yes, yes... but even we Satanists like a holiday tune sometimes. Or at the very least, I do. You see, I am sure a lot of us are missing someone tonight. I am too. This one is very close to my heart.” Copia tries to maintain his faltering smile as you flash through his mind. The image of your eyes brings his first note. _“I am dreaming tonight... of a place I love. Even more than I usually do.”_ Swiss and Cumulus look at one another from across the stage, and they begin to sing background harmony behind each note the Cardinal sings, a soft ‘ _oooooh’_. Aether joins in once he catches on.

 _“And although I know,”_ Copia sings on, parting his arms into a grand gesture, _“It’s a long road back... I promise you—”_ He touches his chest with his gloves. _“I’ll be home for Christmas,”_ he continues, _“You can count on me.”_ Cirrus begins to play a beautifully dark pipe organ backing on her keyboard. The singing of Swiss, Aether and Cumulus only strengthens, and Dew strikes a chord he thinks sounds right.

 _“I’ll be home for Christmas. If only in my dreams.”_ Copia smiles out to the audience, seeing your warmth in everyone’s gaze. He imagines you were there in the front, standing and looking up at him with those adoring eyes. You weren’t able to make it on this European tour because of your duties at the Church, and this time the power of being a Cardinal’s significant other hadn’t granted you exemption from them. Copia had been gone for three months already, and had missed you the entire time. Now, on the last night, it only made things worse that it was a night he wanted so desperately to spend with you—a night for family and love and laughter.

He loves being out on the road with the band, but he’s empty without his beloved.

After he finishes the heartfelt song and wishes the audience a rock n’ roll _Fröhliche Weihnachten,_ he retires back to the bus that would take them back to the hotel. It’s unfathomable to him, spending Christmas without you. He had talked to you about it while hanging stockings, how these were the only dates available for the European tour, and the both of you had decided this would be for the best, to spread the Olde One’s message. But now that the day had come, Copia couldn’t bear to think of you all alone back in his suite at the Church.

Maybe you could find some solace in his bed sheets, and perhaps Babbo Natale would pay you a visit bearing gifts.

** 3 DAYS EARLIER **

Sitting in mass and watching the Third Papa preach the Devil’s word usually calms you. Today, the fact that it isn’t Copia up there only serves to weigh your heart down even further. You had a deep respect for Terzo, but he wasn’t your beloved.

Now that Copia was out on tour, Terzo had taken over giving sermons with gusto, just as he used to. It made him feel important again, carrying out some of the papal duties he used to. But, while Papa was more than entertaining in his sermons, Copia had a quiet wisdom about him. He had something that told his congregation he was speaking from the heart, as if each word passed down from the elders and the Olde One Himself came from his own sentiment.

Looking down, you fiddle with the sapphire ring Copia had given you. Marriage isn’t really a practice in the Church unless you start to discuss terms of being a prime mover, and still, that was a whole different thing from being happily wed. For now, he had given the dainty piece of jewellery to you as a promise, telling you his soul was inside. Metaphorically—you never put dark magical shit past anyone in this clergy, and the thought of carrying Copia’s horcrux around with you is a mildly terrifying notion.

You had questioned him at first on his choice of gemstone. _Wouldn’t a ruby be more fitting?_ you’d asked, with his wardrobe in mind. He’d informed you that blue was actually his favourite colour; that he had no say in the wardrobe process and the clergy designers who had given him red suits were tyrants to anybody except Papas.

You admire the shimmering blue, and rub along the points of the gem gently. Papa’s preaching about Yule. He’s speaking about how it’s coming up in 3 days and how you all must be respectful of other traditions even if they don’t honour Lucifer—that you may not practice it, but ignorance is not His way. You’re reminded of how Copia celebrates both Christmas and the Church’s own version. Phasing out into another daydream of old memories from last month, you start to smile as you look up at the gorgeous stained glass window depicting Lucifer’s fall. Each window has a different stained glass demon depicted of the 7 princes of hell. You remember Copia taking you on a candlelit walk through this chapel one night when you had first arrived at the Church years ago, explaining the tale behind each one to you enthusiastically.

Now, in their lack of knowledge of traditional Christmas, the Emeritus brothers had hung little bat ornaments around the chapel and lots of Jack Skellington merch, though you don’t know if any of them have seen the source material. You don’t mind the odd decor—it’s like having a goth holiday, and you know Copia appreciates the dark twist as well.

You try to tune into the sermon for bits and pieces again. Now Terzo’s talking about why Die Hard is absolutely a Christmas movie. Of fucking course he is. You roll your eyes, and get back to thinking of your partner again. 

A month ago, you had helped Copia set up his suite with all the decorations he had brought when he moved into the Church decades ago. He used to be Catholic, and he had carried the one good thing from that with him: his celebration of Christmas. He no longer worshipped Jesus or practiced any of the religious rites of the holiday, but he had a soft spot for decorating, baking cookies, making popcorn garlands and eating half of them, watching Christmas movies and singing Christmas carols. He now celebrates the holiday in a Lucifer honouring way with you.

Eggnog is his favourite seasonal drink—he had never had it before coming here, and Papa had given him some one year. Although you despise it, Copia likes the cinnamon flavour of it. Papa just drinks it because it reminds him of cum. Copia also seemed to strangely like fruitcake... he’s very much on his own in that.

Before he had left for tour, the two of you had had a good time watching movies like Silent Night Deadly Night, Black Christmas 1974, Better Watch Out, and Gremlins in bed. Pegging a blindfolded Copia to the dark symphony tempo of Carol of the Bells while trying out ice play had also been a festive journey, but at the end of the day it was nice to cuddle up with him and stare at the two stockings hanging by his old gothic fireplace (and the five tiny ones he had hung for his rats).

Now that he was on tour, you had been looking after them with daily visits and lots of treats. Though Copia wouldn’t be spending Christmas here with you, he had given you the freedom to stay in his suite and pretend he was there with you while you opened all your presents he had left.

You look back up to Papa as he extends his arms. It looks as though he’s flying, describing something or other in that vein. Burying your heartache, you make a plan to go talk to him for some support after mass.

“Papa!” you call after the sermon. Terzo hands off a heavy book to a Brother, and turns to you.

“Sister! How are you getting on?” He gives your chin a sympathetic nudge; he knows how close you and the Cardinal are.

“That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about.”

“Ah, si? Lonely without him?”

“Don’t start. Listen, I have a bit of an idea. It involves a video chat and something you can do for me...”

** Present Day, Christmas Eve **

Copia rubs his gloves together as he walks onto the tour bus. “So. What are your thoughts about flying on Christmas?” The ghouls all look up at him, and burst out laughing.

“Uhhh, first of all, you’re not about to catch a flight under $2000 this late in the game,” Rain says.

“Feh, I am not worried about money. The Church has money!”

“The Emeritus brothers have money.”

“Si, good thing I am personal friends with one of them.”

Swiss huffs. “What’s he gonna do, e-transfer you?”

Copia glares. “I don’t appreciate being sassed.” Swiss puts up his hands with a chuckle.

“Hey, no sass from me boss. Just telling it like it is. But hey—if your girl’s what this is all about, nothing can stop the wave of love.”

Copia blinked. “Yeah?”

“No,” Dew snapped, bursting through both of them from the door of the bus. “Have you seen the snow around here? Fucking airport’s gonna be buried for days by the time you even get there!”

“Well... I believe Papa Emeritus the Second has his own jet,” Copia tries weakly, taking out his phone. “I could...” He double took as your name and picture popped up on his phone. “Ah! Shh, shh. It is mi amore!” He answers, fumbling with the phone so it isn’t stuck under his chin. “Cara!”

“Pass the weed!” Dew calls.

“Not that hole!” Swiss adds. Copia sighs.

“Give me a moment, eh? I am going to call you back on my laptop in the room! One moment, okay? Okay!” He glares at his ghouls as he snatches his suitcase and goes to descend the steps out of the bus. “I hate all of you.”

“Happy Yule!” Rain calls down the stairs.

“Merry Jesus night,” Dew mutters.

“Fuck that! It is just Christmas, it is secular!” Copia shouted back.

“Christ dick sucking day,” Dew huffs.

Copia hurries back to his room, and pulls out his laptop. His pants get caught on the door, and he just takes them off. Figuring he may as well take his shirt off too and get comfortable, he slips into the bathrobe supplied by the hotel. He looks out the window, and across the street from the hotel, a giant Christmas tree is lit in multicolour.

“Bellisima,” he whispers, wishing you were beside him to appreciate the sight. Getting out his laptop, the Cardinal sits it on his lap and opens the lid. Before he calls you, he decides not to sit on the bed—there’s a fireplace with garlands all around it and a stocking hanging, and he decides to turn it on. When he does call, you answer immediately.

“Hey,” you grin. Copia’s shoulders relax at the sound of your voice.

“Hi,” he smiles. “Look!” He turns the laptop around so you can see the crackling fireplace in the suite, and the snow beginning to fall just outside the window beside it. “Now it is as if we are snuggling together by the fire, mm?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “So pretty.” Copia moves the computer back so he’s in view, and bites his lip.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you tell him. “I was cuddling a pillow this morning pretending it was you. Pathetic, huh?”

“I, eh... I do that too. I may have cried into mine last night. But don’t tell anybody that!” He points his finger into the camera. His cheeks redden as he cups the side of his face and sighs. “You are so beautiful.” It’s your turn to blush.

“You’re deprived of sleep.”

“I am deprived of you,” he sighs, eyelids hanging low in his depressed state. “I was trying to think of all these ways I could get home to you tonight, but nothing would really work out in time. What I wouldn’t give to run my hands through your hair right now... just to hold you, would make my Christmas perfect.” You bite your bottom lip hard.

“Is it time to break out the Mariah Carey, babe?”

“I was— _no_ , we were having a moment, you ruined it!”

“ _All I want for Christmas is you_.”

“I did not say that.”

“You were about to say it.”

“It is a good song. Eh? Is that wrong? It is a very good song.”

“Remember last Christmas, when you danced to it in the shower?”

“Last Christmas... was that when I gave you my heart?”

“I think s—oh, get fucked.” Copia doubles over in laughter as you shake your head and smile. “No more George Michael for you.”

“Come cara, you know you like to listen to the Careless Whisper when I seduce you.”

“When you play that in bed, I think of Papa Nihil on top of me, oiled up and playing the saxophone.” Copia makes a face, mentally making a note to burn that 45. He readjusts the laptop screen to grab a candy cane off his night stand and give the pudge of his stomach a scratch along the way. You moan. Copia freezes.

“Are you touching yourself?” he hisses.

“I wish I was,” you groan.

“I only flashed my stomach.”

“And your crotch. Are those candy canes on your underwear?”

“Oh.” Copia laughs bashfully, unwrapping the candy and looking down at his tight holiday boxers. “Si! I ordered them as a package. These, one with cute gingerbread peoples, and one with pentagrams.” He cocks his head. “A leftover from their Halloween collection, that last one.”

“Nice cock.”

Copia chokes on his candy cane spit. “Ai. Don’t say shit like that when I cannot fuck you, brat.”

“Can’t help it. That’s a really juicy dick you’ve got there.”

Copia whines. “ _Cara!”_

“An absolutely breathtaking penis.” Copia’s hand flies down to hold himself with a pained look on his face.

“Fine. _Thank you_. I take a lot of pride in my... my junk.” He sniffs, and tilts the screen down again. In trying to show you the candy cane pattern of the boxers, he inadvertently rubs himself again. You see Copia shiver, and bite your lip at the outline resting against his thigh. It twitches, and you start to see the swollen head peek out from the left side of the boxers—likely from all your praising of it. _Fuck_. Copia swirls his tongue around the end of the candy cane, and your breath hitches.

“That looks like you’re sucking a cock.” Copia pauses.

“You like watching me suck cock, cara?” He gives the candy another lick, takes a little further down into his mouth. You shift a little bit—it looks like you’re in a tight space, but Copia can’t tell where.

“Suck it,” you whisper. Copia lets out a soft whine, and takes the candy cane down to the bend, closing his eyes and letting it pop back out. “So good, baby.” Copia moans, and you see his right arm move and flex a little bit. “Is your cock out?” He shakes his head. “Keep it that way. I want you to stroke yourself through those nice new boxers. Get ‘em all messy for me.” Copia shifts, eyelids fluttering again. He keeps the candy cane dangling from his lips as he tilts the screen down to his crotch again. His cock has filled out the underwear, laying against his hip now under the boxers instead of down one leg.

A soft _‘ah’_ falls from his lips. The palm of your hand starts to slowly move of its own accord; you’re not in the best place to do this, but you can’t help but follow along and mirror Copia’s actions. You inch your top up as well, just enough to expose your breasts in your bra to him. 

"Ai, fuck," he whispers at the sight. 

“If I was there right now, I would suck you so hard through those,” you tell him. Copia starts to stroke himself in earnest through the boxers until he’s rolling his hips upward.

“May I please touch?” he gasps.

“You’re doing fine just like that.” Whining, he keeps going like this until he’s arching up, bed creaking. Where he is now you’re getting a good angle, a view right between his legs. You can see how tight his balls are, and you nearly lick your lips at the sight of his bulge being stroked so quickly. “Tease your hole.”

“Mmm.” He reaches his hand down to circle his hole through the boxers, pressing harder and cupping his balls.

“Back up to your cock.” With a desperate moan, he obeys.

“I am so hard,” he pants out. “Please... please. Want you to suck me.”

“I’m taking you all the way down. I’m gagging on you, I wanna swallow it all.”

“Fuck—!”

“Let me taste you. Cum for me, Copia.” He lets out a shuddered breath, and tries to fumble for the laptop. He moves the screen to look head on at his bulge, and you see the first few drops of his spending leak through the clothing. Another gush of cum follows it, then another, and a smaller one as Copia rides his high and begins to catch his breath. Finally, he takes the candy cane out of his mouth to put it on the night stand, and you catch a glimpse of a couple drops of cum dripping down onto the keyboard. Biting your lip, you fail to suppress the whine that comes out of your mouth from your own rubbing as you get off as quietly as you can.

Copia jerks his head up to watch you shake and shudder through your own orgasm, and he tenses up. “Oh,” he breathes, “I...” Biting his fist, he runs his hand up and down himself in a blur until two more stunted ropes of cum barely soak through in a second, shorter orgasm.

“Did you cum again?”

“Si,” he admits breathlessly.

“Good boy.” After both of you catch your breath and Copia changes on camera into his clean gingerbread boxers, you sigh.

“I’ve got you beat for sexy clothes. Look what _I’m_ wearing,” you say, holding up your hands. Copia squints at the screen.

“The mittens I knitted for you!” He rubs the back of his neck. “They weren’t very well made, I’m afraid. I don’t know how to knit that well. My bambinos helped me, they sat nice while I tried to knit them onto the backs.” You smile down at the white knit gloves with the tiny brown blob rats on the back of each.

“They’re perfect. They keep me toasty, and when I wear them I feel like I’m holding your hand.” Copia takes a deep breath. “What’s wrong?”

“I...” Copia bites his bottom lip. 

“No. I didn’t mean to—” 

“Oh. That is...” Copia exhales, dabbing at his eyes.

“Wait, it’s okay! No Copi—”

“That is the sweetest sentiment I have heard of anything I’ve done,” he whines to you softly, wiping burgeoning tears away. “I want to feel your hands in mine in those mittens. I want it more than the world, my dear.” He sniffles as your heart breaks. “I haven’t been away from you so long since we got together.” He blinks suddenly. “Why are you wearing your mittens indoors, dolce?”

“Oh, I’m about to go out,” you tell him excitedly. “Just for a bit of a walk. Want me to call you when I’m out there?” Copia nods. “I’ll call you in 5.”

“Si. Okay.”

“I’ll miss you ‘til then!”

“No more than I will.” You blow a kiss and end the call, and Copia closes his eyes. Although seeing you through a screen where he couldn’t touch you hadn’t been ideal, it felt nice to talk to you and see your familiar face at least.

Copia gets up to wash his cum-stained hand off. The staff had decorated his room very festively, at least. They must not have caught wind that their rock star guests would be devil worshipping clergy-members. Copia takes the cross on the tiny tree and turns it upside down before taking in the full scope of the decor.

Wreaths, garlands, fake icicles. Even a mini Christmas tree in the corner. He missed the one back at the Abbey, the huge black artificial one that reached to the ceiling adorned with handmade wooden grucifixes, small resolutions written on parchments, and pentacles. All these thoughts of the holidays fosters a craving for some hot chocolate... but Copia only has a red bathrobe and boxers on. He supposed there wouldn’t be many other guests up and about at this hour-- he could get away with the robe and some fuzzy socks in sandals. As he goes to get the fuzzy socks on, you video call him again. Balancing the laptop on the bathroom counter, the Cardinal lifts his foot up on the toilet to slip his first sock on.

“Ciao!”

“He— what are you doing?” you ask.

“Putting my socks on! I am going to grab some hot chocolate, I think. I am craving it madly, and I can’t go down naked.”

“Why not?” Copia blushes as you regard his precarious position on the toilet.

"Eh, perhaps I will order up instead." He gets out his phone, sending off a text to the front desk.

“I’m just glad you don’t have Terzo’s balance, or lack thereof. You’d be spending Christmas Eve and day in the hospital with your foot up like that.”

“That is true.” Copia looks back up at the screen, where you’re balanced on a pile of towels. “So it is snowing back home, eh? I can see in the background!”

You look up at the snowflakes falling around you from the dark sky above. “It’s definitely snowing.”

“It just started snowing here too.” Copia darts around the corner to look out the window. “We should make snow ghouls, and pretend we’re together.”

“Snow ghouls?”

“I am a Satanic Cardinal, cara. There is nothing angelic about anything I do.”

“Well, it’s pretty out here. I just don’t really know where I ended up. I’m in a strange place.” That gives Copia pause. He frowns, disregarding his socks to sit down with the laptop again and inspect your surroundings worriedly through the video.

“Are you alright? You couldn’t have gone far from the abbey, no?”

“Copia... I’m nowhere near the abbey.” Now he’s really starting to worry.

“Ah, shit. Just stay where you are. I’ll have Special get a car, and—” he trails off as he looks behind you. He begins to identify the background, the lighting, and blinks rapidly. “Cara... are you...?” You start to smile, and Copia drops the laptop with a crash. He dashes out the door of his hotel room with one fuzzy reindeer sock on, bathrobe flapping open to reveal his gingerbread boxers (and what was inevitably bobbing underneath).

As he gets to the top of the stairs going down, Copia narrowly misses a collision with the employee bringing him up the hot chocolate.

“Ah! Thank you! Please leave it on the table, si? I have company coming!”

Nearly sliding into fiery death by way of the fireplace in the foyer, Copia steadies himself on the wall and sprints past the front desk. All the concierge sees dashing past is a short red blur.

The front doors of the hotel burst open with an icy blast of winter air swirling inside. Copia steps out and crunches through the snow, looking all over the place. He hadn’t seen exactly where you were around here, or thought to ask before zooming downstairs. _There you are._ He sees you standing by the Christmas tree. He runs as fast as he can like a madman to get across the parking lot to you.

“Cara!” he shouts, skidding over on the ice and sweeping you into his arms. Unfortunately, he misjudged what should have been a tender embrace, and takes you tumbling down to the ground with him in a heap, you landing on top. Your surprise fades, and you start to giggle, tucking your phone away. A big red sack lies beside you, wrapped gifts spilling out into the snow.

“Hi,” you whisper, chilled nose pressed up against his. “I brought our presents.” You hold up your wrist, where a blue bow is tied around it. “And me. Merry Christmas?” Copia’s lower lip trembles as he stares into your eyes. The smallest voice comes out of him.

“You’re here, baby.”

Your beaming smile prompts the tears to finally roll down Copia’s cheeks. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in tight to his body as if he never wants to let you go again. The two of you remain like that on the cold hard ground rocking back and forth together, paying no attention to the world around you. A stinging German voice cuts through—that of the hotel valet.

“Ihr beide! Schönes Mädchen und verrückter alter Mann! Kein Ficken auf unserem Parkplatz!”

Copia waves nervously. “Entschuldigung! Sorry, sorry! Merry Christmas, si?!”

“Ficken Rockstar degenerierts!” the man calls back. “Scheiße!”

Copia helps you up, dusting the snow off your shoulders that had accumulated from above. “How did you get all the way out here, hm!?”

“Special had something arranged for me. Terzo gave me most of his frequent flying points—you know he has a lot, ever since Secondo banned him from using his jet.”

“You are braver than I am,” he marvels.

“I just wanted to get home for Christmas,” you smile bashfully, looking down. Copia lifts his hands up to your face.

“But the Abbey is home.” You shake your head.

“Home is wherever you are.”

Copia sighs. “Cara mia _.”_ He pulls you in for another tight hug. When you break it, he takes your gloved hand and puts it over his heart, beating quickly. “This is what your words do to me.”

“And how about my lips?” you breathe, and lean in to press yours to his. Copia’s eyes widen and his fingers flex, before his eyebrows knit and he melts into the deep kiss. His hand wraps around your middle, bringing you closer, and his other one comes up to brush your hair out of your eyes, back under your beanie. Your lips barely want to leave each other as you gently pull away, magical white glitter falling around you in the form of Christmas Eve snow. Copia’s got a nose as red as Rudolph and the snowflakes are getting caught in his eyelashes. His mustache is starting to develop a frost. “Let’s get you inside,” you giggle.

“I, eh... don’t think I can move,” he admits. “My leg joints are frozen.”

“I’ll just have to carry you,” you retort. At the idea of that, Copia’s eyes widen and he inconspicuously makes a move to cover himself. You raise an eyebrow. “Did that get you hard, imagining me holding you all strong and shit?”

“What are you talking about?” he mutters. “I couldn’t get a boner out here in the freezing cold if I tried.” Evidently this was a lie.

“Didn’t you cum like, 15 minutes ago on the call with me?”

“Please, you know my refractory period is short!”

“Lucky for me.” Copia takes your hand as you pick the gift sack up and help him back inside the hotel lobby. He hums contentedly.

“You know, there is no ritual tomorrow.”

“Perfect. A day of unwrapping gifts,” you smile.

“A night of unwrapping you,” Copia growls, and sweeps you up into his arms. His poor knees knock and promptly buckle from being out in the cold too long, and the both of you fall on your ass in the lobby to the amusement of onlookers and a couple of Ghost fans. “Ai,” he groans. “So much for that Hallmark moment. Old fucking knees.”

“So, plan A?” you smirk, standing. “I carry you?” Copia looks up at you sheepishly, letting out a sweet little laugh.


End file.
